architectural

Mimi and Robert Melnick are my aunt and uncle. Uncle Bob is my father's brother. A lifelong non-smoker, Uncle Bob died of lung cancer in his late fifties. Uncle Bob and Aunt Mimi became objects of mild derision in my family when they first announced their project of documenting the manhole covers of Los Angeles and beyond. We found it a somewhat frivolous and Quixotic project; in a word, flakey. My wall-to-wall shag carpeted and formica topped parents thought Bob and Mimi were a little eccentric. Memory is fragile. My memory of them is fading and full of holes. I know that their house was full of antique farm implements. A large tangled mass of found wire hung above their mantle. Their fireplace screen was made of chains of old soda can pull tops. I know that I am wrong about this but I remember books in their library covered in yellow paper and shelved backwards. My parents were amused and puzzled that Bob and Mimi liked to vacation in Bakersfield but my aunt and uncle must have found something very rare there that my parents did not have the patience to see. I didn't really know what sort of incredible treasure Bob and Mimi were until Uncle Bob was dead and Mimi no longer attended our family gatherings and holiday dinners. I am very sorry that I didn't know them better but I loved them very much and their example inspired me to try to find a place for the whimsical or extraordinary in my life. You will find their book beautiful and strange. It is beautiful not least because Mimi and Bob found art and design, found humanity and dignity, in a gritty and ignored urban artifact. And this is pioneering work. Very few before them sought life in the abused quotidian. Now such books documenting the gorgeousness and variety of everyday or even debased objects are rather common.